


Seven Days of Shassie

by MuiromeM



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Drama, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuiromeM/pseuds/MuiromeM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts written for Shassie Week 2014. Rated Teen to be safe, will likely contain anything from angst and drama to fluff and silliness. Will change the rating later if needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pranks/Prank War

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is a day late! My first entry for Shassie Week 2014, under the theme of Pranks/Prank War. I've never written Shassie before and this was done mostly at four in the morning so hopefully it isn't too terrible. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Hopefully I'll have a new chapter up every day but some might be posted a bit late (like this one). I'll be working to write for Day 2 today as well.

     Everything had started off harmless enough, and Juliet was willing to let a few pranks slide. It was, after all, April Fool’s day, and she could hardly be expected to stop Shawn from having a little fun (so long as he didn’t disrupt anyone too badly and Vick didn’t kick him out). The fact that Lassiter had suddenly joined the fray was a bit unusual, but not entirely unexpected and if Juliet was honest, she wanted to see where this was going.

     The precinct had been rather quiet that morning, not much but paperwork in the way of duties, and everyone had been going about their usual routines until Shawn and Gus had slipped in, waited until Lassiter was out of sight, and then hurriedly deposited something on his desk. Juliet knew from the moment she’d checked her calendar that Shawn would have something planned and it didn’t even take guessing to know who he’d chosen as a target. He was getting more and more obvious as time went on. She rolled her eyes when she spotted what Shawn had delivered and waited for the show to start as her partner returned to his desk.

     She was not disappointed.

     “Snow globes?” Though the tone was light, Juliet could see a slight tightening of Carlton’s jaw as he forced a smile on his face. “What a thoughtful gift! I’d been meaning to get some new targets for the range and these will do nicely. Thanks Spencer.” Lassiter had said rather earnestly and patted Shawn’s shoulder, hauling a bag of snow globes with the Psych logo away from his desk in a paper bag.

     Shawn was undeterred by Lassiter’s lack of concern and smiled back just as brightly. Juliet could just see the smugness in his eyes. “Anything for my favorite detective, Lassie.” Shawn gushed, never a step behind. “Besides, I felt I needed to repay you for switching out my pineapple smoothie for a banana, seaweed, and beet-juice health shake.” He slurped something thick and disgusting through the straw of his paper cup, apparently unperturbed. “It’s really sweet of you, always looking out for my health like that.” He winked and Lassiter frowned, hurrying out of the station.

     Really, it should have just ended there. The two already had a draw, and everyone would have been safer if Shawn had just let things go, called it even between himself and Carlton, and then she wouldn’t have had to intervene at all. But no, the psychic was stubborn and her partner was worse, so Juliet smiled to herself and quietly went back to her paperwork without mentioning anything.

     Soon Carlton’s cellphone was spouting out the chorus of “Barbie Girl” and Shawn found his iPhone case switched with one showing a picture of The Mentalist. Tassels were thrown around, bullets went missing, Lassiter’s crap list was replaced with ten year old girl’s bright pink diary, and Shawn found out that peanut butter between socks and Nike’s was the worst feeling in the world.

     Not even Juliet could figure out how Lassiter had managed to get ahold of Shawn’s shoes never mind the peanut butter that went in them, but she wouldn’t forget the girlish shriek that practically broke Chief Vick’s office windows when Shawn had put his shoes back on.

     Oh April first was such an interesting day…

*             *             *

     An hour later, a “Nice wallpaper.” was thrown over Shawn’s retreating shoulder, followed by the growl of irritation from Lassiter as he switched on his computer and brightly-colored poodles in pink tutus had stared back at him from the desktop. Shawn had fist-bumped his best friend (who’d been staying a safe distance away from the war zone) before leaving with a smug smile, chatting about nacho cheese burritos and trying to find a restaurant that would serve pancakes after ten in the morning.

     Twenty minutes after Juliet and her partner’s own lunch hour (which was much later and Juliet had eaten alone because Lassiter apparently had business to attend to away from the station), Shawn had returned to the department in a flurry, yelling something about his motorcycle and demanding payment for cleaning.

     By then back at his usual spot, Lassiter had actually looked like he felt regretful (something Juliet knew was just surprisingly good acting on his part if the grin he’d stifled seconds before facing Shawn was anything to go by). “That was your motorcycle Spencer? I had no idea!” he raised both hands as if in a sign of surrender. “I only turned by back for a moment and, really, how was I supposed to know that molasses would stain so easily?”

     Juliet had no idea what Carlton had managed to do to Shawn’s bike, but it sounded messy, inventive, and probably more than a little cruel. She doubted Lassiter would actually pay the fee to get Shawn’s bike cleaned and she could almost see the wheels in the psychic’s head turning as he planned his April Fool’s day revenge, stalking away in a huff. The stakes were getting higher and if their pranks got any worse she might have to put a stop to things. For the moment though, there wasn’t any big crime to deal with and the look on Lassiter’s face when McNab pointed out the poodle wallpaper and happily declared it to be identical to the one his wife used made it worth waiting for a bit longer.

     Maybe she ought to be nice and help him change it back to the bland desktop he’d had before Shawn’s meddling, but really where was the fun in that? Perhaps tomorrow (April second), she’d do it before he got to work as a sort of apology.

     After another hour or so, Shawn had still not returned to the station but Gus had somehow perched himself on a chair and rolled it up to Juliet’s desk. In the following forty five minutes of paperwork and silence, he remained there, never bothering her or asking questions, instead seeming just as keen to see the inevitable showdown that would come as she was.

     Finally unable to wait any longer, Juliet broke. “Do you know where Shawn is?” she asked discreetly, hoping to sound casual without catching Lassiter’s attention from where he fumed over an old file and reloaded a magazine clip.

     For his part, Gus looked to be as out of the prank-loop as she was. “Nope. He ran off, took the Blueberry, and he won’t even answer my texts. Now I don’t have a ride home!” he crossed his arms but Juliet knew the irritation wouldn’t last and paid it no mind.  “If I didn’t know better I’d say something bad happened, but Shawn is probably out shopping or getting snacks. I mean, really the danger isn’t coming until Shawn gets back. _Then_ I’ll worry for his safety.”

     Juliet raised a brow. “I thought you would have been worried about Lassiter’s safety, what with Shawn on a prank spree and probably going for the kill after the bike incident.” She’d been sent a picture by Gus. The damage hadn’t looked pretty and, _wow_ she didn’t even want to know where Carlton had managed to find that much molasses so fast. 

     But Gus shook his head, glancing at her partner warily. “Oh no, if I know Shawn he’ll take things too far this time. In fact, he’ll take things past too far and then Lassiter is going to probably snap and last I checked he was the one with a gun, not Shawn.” The man shook his head in defeat. “It was nice knowing the guy Juliet- I mean, he was my best friend. I’m sure you’ll come to the funeral?”

     She laughed, putting away a file and cracking her back to relieve some of the tension that had accumulated from hunching over her desk. “Oh I don’t know Gus…. I think by the end of the day things will work out.” As she smiled sweetly, Gus looked at her like she’d grown three heads. Juliet took that as her cue to leave and went to get some coffee, enjoying the confused look Gus had as he followed her with his eyes.

     This was going to be so _good._

*             *             *

     Anyone who’d worked with or around Lassiter for the past years was by now nearly immune to the head detective’s ranting, shouting, and complaining. However, when Lassiter’s cry of “ _Spencer!_ ” sudden cut through the air like a gunshot, even McNab flinched at the force with which one name could be yelled.

     Lassiter had stormed into the bullpen, grabbed Shawn by the collar of his shirt and dragged him towards the nook beside the staircase as the psychic laughed his ass off. Juliet followed discreetly, shocked to see that not only was Lassiter’s holster empty, but the man was white-knuckling a bright pink squirt-gun painted with little squirrels on it, pointing the thing right at Shawn’s grinning face.

     “ _Where. Is. It._ ” Lassiter ground out, body practically on top of Shawn due to the corner he’d forced the Psychic into. “Where did you put my gun? I’d really like it back so that I can _shoot you in the face!_ ”

     The sleight of hand it must have taken to not only remove Lassiter’s gun without him noticing but also replace it with a kid’s toy was beyond impressive and Juliet had to wonder what other ridiculous skills Shawn might have been holding out on telling them about. She tried not to giggle when she noticed Shawn’s fingers trailing over Lassiter’s tie before holding it up to peel a bright yellow smiley face sticker from the fabric.

     “Looks like you could use some cheering up Lassparilla.” Shawn said, batting his eyelashes as he held up the sticker. Lassiter grabbed it and crumpled the tiny thing in one hand, tossing it out of the way carelessly. Shawn’s smile didn’t even waver. “What, no comebacks? And here I thought you were ready to prank until the last man went down.”

     Lassiter growled low in his throat. “If you think that this is in _any_ way over, then you are going to need more than a few hundred dollars in motorcycle repairs to worry about.” He was practically breathing down Shawn’s neck.

     The psychic only narrowed his eyes. “Really? Because I thought you’d be a bit busy going on a scavenger hunt. Unless you plan to shoot me with something _other_ than your gun.” That made Juliet put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter because if Shawn got any more obvious, it would probably go right over her partner’s head.

     When Lassiter took a step closer, looking ready to either kill Shawn or throw him out of the building, Juliet realized it was probably time to step in. “Alright you two, settle down already.” She said, coming around the corner and crossing her arms, trying her best to look stern.

     Lassiter rolled his eyes when he spotted her but let go of Shawn’s shirt and tossed the squirt-gun onto a nearby table. “Perfect timing O’Hara, I was about to make sure Spencer walks out with more holes in his body than he came in with. I’ll need someone to help me with his body.”

     Shawn scoffed. “Oh sure, because you’ll drill through me with your kneecaps. Right, mister un-armed?”

     The smile that spread over Lassiter’s face was almost scary. “I was thinking more along the lines of showing you how skilled I am with _my hands_.” Really now, how was Juliet supposed to find a better opening than that? Her partner had practically invited her involvement.

     Shaking her head, Juliet looked between the two men and said, loud enough that they’d listen but no one else would probably hear, “If you two don’t find a better way to settle your _sexual tension_ you’re going to have to leave.”

     Two heads snapped around to face her, one with eyebrows trying to meet his hairline, the other with blue eyes wide and mouth agape. “What the hell O’Hara-” Lassiter started, sputtering while Shawn laughed nervously as though trying to pass off her comment as a joke.

     Juliet stepped closer, ducking her head slightly as though trying to be discreet, cutting them both off. “It’s alright you two, the secret is already out.” She did her best to look guilty, shifting her eyes from one person to the other.

     At exactly the same time, both Shawn and Carlton frowned at her and took a step back. In unison they pointed to one another before gasping out, " _You told?_  " 

She almost wished the moment had been filmed as both men took a moment to realize that the other had said the same thing. The delayed reaction on their shocked faces gave her just enough time to grin manically before Shawn and Lassiter turned to one another, staring. Shawn broke into what was arguably the stupidest grin she’d ever seen (never before had the word “twitterpated” sounded more adequate), while Lassiter’s face turned beet red, from the tips of his ears to what was visible of his neck.

     “April Fools!” Juliet cheered, clapping her hands together giddily. “Of _course_ I didn’t tell you, _Shawn_ , that Carlton has been trying to find a way to ask you to dinner for two weeks, and of course, _Carlton_ , I didn’t tell you that Shawn made me swear to secrecy that he’s crushing on you and wants to take you to see a movie on Friday.” She watched in delight as more blushing ensued, this time from Shawn as Lassiter ducked his head, suddenly shy. "Oops, guess you know now though I suppose."

     Juliet would admit, she'd expected her partner to be mad and start yelling at her. Instead, he stammered, swallowing hard. “Did you, uh… I mean, were you actually going to…” Lassiter trailed off nervously, fidgeting with his holster and looking everywhere but Shawn’s face.

     When Shawn nodded emphatically, spilling how he’d gotten tickets to some new action flick that he’d hoped Lassiter would like but hadn’t been sure that the detective would go, Juliet carefully slipped away, happy with how her prank had turned out. Neither man even noticed her sudden absence which was just what she had wanted.She'd honestly gotten tired of being the confidante for two people who seriously needed to get their butts in gear and just ask each other out. It had been pretty obvious to her that both men were enamored.

     When Juliet returned to her desk and Gus asked her what had happened, she’d simply smiled, told him that Shawn wouldn’t need a casket any time soon and assured him that everything was fine now. Gus looked skeptical and she’d happily informed him that Shawn would probably be a bit _busy_ for a while and suggested Gus either go home or get something to eat while he waited.

     If her partner and the psychic detective came back into the bullpen together fifteen minutes later with obviously ruffled hair but (thankfully), intact clothes, she wasn’t going to mention it to anyone.

     April Fool’s day had _definitely_ been fun.

 


	2. Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love baking so it has always been one of the fluffiest things I can imagine my OTP's doing when it comes to domestic crap. I'd like to think this came out better than the last one, but that's up to you to decide.
> 
> I figured some silliness, flirting, and fluff was needed for Shassie Week Day 2 before I delve into drama for tomorrow's prompt.

     When the fire alarm went off for the third time in as many hours, Lassiter had finally reached his breaking point. Boyfriend or not, he could only handle so much at a time.

      “Dammit Spencer!” he cursed, turning the damn shrieking contraption off and opening as many windows as he could to try and clear away the billowing smoke. “No more easy-bake ovens in my apartment, or so help me I will throw your toothbrush to the raccoons.”

      Shawn Spencer, fake-psychic extraordinaire and now full-time bed-buddy to one Carlton Lassiter, at least had the decency to look guilty. He hurriedly wiped off Lassiter’s table, trying to clean off burnt sludge that might have once been pieces of pineapple. With sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a streak of something that might have been flower or powdered cake mix across one eyebrow, he certainly looked less than happy at the outcome of his latest failed attempt. Over the past few days Shawn had bought three easy bake ovens, apparently having decided, on Lassiter’s day off of all days, that baking was the hobby of the afternoon. Of course, Shawn couldn’t just make those tiny and terrible excuses for pineapple upside down cakes like he had before, _oh no._

      Now he’d somehow hot-wired all three ovens together with something that might have been a small car battery and seemed to think that baking a cake in thirds and squishing the thin layers on top of each other would be a good idea (it was something like that anyways, Carlton wasn’t sure he’d ever understand what the hell went on in Spencer’s brain). Lassiter hadn’t managed to remain unscathed by the culinary atrocities and had the scorch marks on his perfectly good dining room table and lungs full of smoke to prove it.

      Carlton waited until everything had been cleaned up, the toy ovens disposed of and the kitchen free of dishes or ingredients before he finally offered the proverbial olive branch. Shawn had been sulking for as long as it took to clear the place out and hadn’t even spoken a word. Lassiter finally took pity on him. “Shawn, bring me the big mixing bowl. Oh, and I need you to put on something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

      Shawn perked up at the order, snickering at Lassiter’s last remark but searching for the bowl in question anyways. While the fake-psychic started pulling out all manner of dishes from one of the overhead cabinets, Lassiter rolled up his sleeves (already wearing one of his more comfortable in-house button-downs), started grabbing things from the fridge, and set them on the kitchen’s marble-topped island. He had to rummage around under the sink before managing to find the apron he kept for when cooking something more complicated than breakfast. He was just fastening the ties together when Shawn left the kitchen briefly and came back wearing an ancient pair of baggy jeans and one of Carlton’s old SBPD t-shirts.

      “Since when do you get to wear that?” Lassiter asked, tone light as he appreciated how the old shirt hung on Shawn’s shorter but somewhat stockier frame.

      Shawn simply grinned, slapping Carlton on the ass and leaning over the kitchen counter on his elbows. “So what’s with all the stuff Lassie?” he asked, glancing at the collection of butter, brown sugar, cherries (when did Lassiter even buy maraschino cherries?), cream cheese, eggs, and a box of cake mix. “I can’t decide if you’re going to bake something or are preparing for a zombie attack with those industrial beaters.” The beaters in question weren’t overly large, just bigger than the tiny one Shawn had at his own place that Gus had accidentally left there once.

      Smiling softly, Lassiter opened the box of cake mix before shoving a spare white apron at Shawn. “You wanted pineapple upside-down cake right?” he asked, watching Shawn struggle with the apron from the corner of his eye before sighing and helping the psychic tie it around himself. “I figured if you’re going to bake you ought to do it right. No half-assing anything with a children’s toy and burning the place down. So, do you want to help me bake one or not?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

      Shawn looked at him like a halo of golden light had suddenly surrounded his boyfriend’s head. “I can’t decide which is sexier, you offering to bake me a cake,” he began, grabbing scissors to cut open the cake mix package. He glanced at Lassiter’s navy blue apron, finally noticing what had been printed on it. “Or, you baking me a _pineapple_ cake without asking for money or blackmail while wearing an apron that says ‘shoot to kill’. Lassie the way to my heart is through delicious flavor and I think you’ve won the jackpot.” Shawn was grinning like a kid in a candy store and Lassiter just rolled his eyes fondly at the completely illogical metaphor.

      Spraying non-stick spray onto a baking pan, Carlton tried not to notice how happy the surprisingly simple gesture had made Shawn. “Yeah well, it was that or find a new place to live again because you were seriously about to burn down this entire building.” he said, trying his best to sound like his usual gruff self and not get caught up in Shawn’s good mood. It was a losing battle though as the two worked easily through the steps of the recipe he’d pulled from a small rolodex; pre-heating the oven, mixing butter and sugar together, and chatting about everything from cases to when Shawn had last eaten a proper pineapple upside-down cake.

      “My mom used to make it for my birthday sometimes before she moved out.” He was saying, not paying much attention to the fact that cake batter had somehow ended up on the side of his arm and just below one eye. “Dad always used to just buy birthday cakes, which was a bad idea because I always thought the lady at Safeway was a little shifty. Actually, that might have been why she was arrested just before my-” he cut off suddenly, noticing that Lassiter hadn’t said much for the past ten minutes besides making a soft ‘hmmm’ noise in response to Shawn’s ramblings.

      The two were almost elbow to elbow in the kitchen so Shawn put the measuring cups he’d been holding back onto the counter and went to stand behind Carlton instead, looking over his shoulder to see what had caught the man’s attention. His eyes immediately went wide. The detective was leaned over, carefully cutting up a fresh pineapple; the core removed and outside skin already stripped away. Everyone usually used canned pineapple for cakes but Shawn had always preferred using fresh ones. How Lassiter had known he wasn’t sure, but the thought made him feel a bit giddy.

      The bright yellow fruit was on its side as Lassiter slowly sliced it into perfectly sized rings, depositing each one into the sugary mixture that was in the cake pan. Shawn slipped his arms around Lassiter’s waist, unable to help admire the calloused hands and long, slender fingers as Carlton silently worked. He’d always though the detective’s hands looked as beautiful cradling the barrel of a gun as a pianist’s would dancing across the ivories.

      “Are you going to finish mixing the cake batter together or am I going to have to do all the work myself?” Lassiter gently prodded Shawn’s arm with the handle of his knife as he spoke. In response Shawn lazily rested his head against Lassiter’s shoulder.

      “Nope. Too cozy.” he answered, words muffled by Lassiter’s shirt. The detective let out a huff but couldn’t help the smile that slid across his features. Shawn did tend to be a cuddle-bug whenever they had alone time together, and Carlton had to admit, it felt good to just relax and bake something nice together on his day off (something he would have never thought to do before the idiot had stumbled into his life and then into his heart, house, and bed).

     Wiping his hands dry of pineapple juice, Lassiter grabbed at the jar of cherries and managed to slip around so he was partially facing Shawn. “I guess you don’t want to help put these in the pan then, do you?” he cocked an eyebrow, knowing Shawn’s love of junk food would win out almost every time.

      The barest of seconds passed before Shawn had the jar open and was eating at least two cherries for every one he had to place into the center of the pineapple rings. He could move surprisingly fast when properly motivated. “That’s cheating Lassie; you know I can’t resist tiny macchiato apples.”

      “It’s _maraschino_ , and they’re cherries Shawn, not apples.”

      Shawn snorted. “I’ve heard it both ways.” he easily shot back, still chewing on one of the overly bright-red fruits. “I should warn you though… you’d better stop this right now Carlton Lassiter!” He suddenly switched to false seriousness, holding out a cherry for Carlton to take and pop into his mouth. “I mean it- you’re going to spoil me and then I’ll never want to leave!”

      Lassiter donned his best of look surprised. “Me?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he poured half of the cake batter they’d made into the pan after Shawn placed the last cherry. “Don’t look now Spencer, but I think you foiled my evil plan. You see, I had hoped to seduce you with pineapple upside-down cake, gain your trust, find out all your dirty little secrets, and then out you for what you really are.” Putting the bowl aside, Lassiter placed his hands on Shawn’s hips, kissing him on the jaw before wiping away the smudge of batter over the man’s cheekbone. “What ever will I do now that you’ve figured it out?”

      Wiggling his eyebrows, Shawn trailed a hand over Lassiter’s chest and stepped closer, pressing their bodies together. “Oh I don’t know mister five-star pastry chef, that depends… is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” he asked cheekily, noticing the press of something against his leg.

      Lassiter stared at Shawn with the best poker face the man had ever seen before pushing Shawn back slightly, reaching behind his apron, and pulling out a Colt Mustang from his waistband. “Of course it’s a gun.” he said, looking slightly confused. If anyone had come in just then, Lassiter would have looked for all the world like the head detective of the SBPD that shouted orders, pushed Shawn around, and refused to even go to a baseball game without packing heat.

      When the oven beeped a few seconds later to signal that the oven had finished pre-heating, Shawn burst out laughing hysterically. “Oh my god you _actually_ had a gun in your pocket!” he cried, unable to control himself. The image of Carlton standing with an apron covered in pineapple juice and cake batter, holding a dripping spoon in one hand and a fully loaded gun in another was just too absurd. He just looked so serious! If Gus and Juliet could have seen them now they probably would have laughed too. Shawn was almost tempted to take a picture.

      “Oh shut up, Spencer.” Lassiter said, returning the gun to where it had been hidden before and getting back to work on the cake. He’d rolled his eyes and turned his back on his still hysterical boyfriend, but Carlton couldn’t help but smile anyways, pretending that Shawn’s laughter wasn’t at all giving him that warm feeling in his chest; it was overspill from the oven, obviously.

      When he’d finally caught his breath again, Shawn helped put the cake into the oven with only a few giggles and set the timer. Pulling off his apron and throwing it onto the counter beside the rest of the mess they’d made, he let out a contented sigh. “I bet this is going to be amazing when it’s finished.” He said, bringing out two beers and handing one over while they waited with backs pressed to the counter. “Cleaning up is gonna suck though.” he added, nodding towards the destruction they’d left.

      Sneaking a hand around Shawn’s shoulder, Carlton shrugged. “It can wait for a bit.” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Shawn’s head. “We’ve got an hour before the cake is done anyways and then it has to cool off.” His hand suddenly slid lower, resting on Shawn’s hip again. “I for one, would rather get some take-out and watch _Heartbreak Ridge_ while you find an appropriate way to thank me for making you such a nice cake. After all, you did seem rather eager to earlier.” Now he was the one smirking suggestively. “Sound appetizing?”

      Shawn looked relieved at putting off clean-up duty and was already untying Lassiter’s apron and grabbing for the phone. “If you get to pick the movie, then I get to pick the food.” he warned, already dialing his favorite pizza place. “And if you don’t want Hawaiian style thou must speakith now or forever hold thine piece of pizza.”

      Carlton did laugh then, shaking his head and not bothering to correct Shawn. “Should have known a whole cake topped in pineapple wasn’t enough for you. Now you’ve got to ruin our pizza too?” Soon their conversation devolved into what toppings were better on pizza and why Shawn was clearly the better connoisseur of fine cuisine due to his extraordinarily better taste in Italian food.

      By the time the cake was done, they were both on the couch, cuddled up together and full of cheese and crust and pineapple (because Shawn still managed to win out on who chose what toppings). It was probably the nicest day off Carlton had been forced to take in a while.

 *             *             *

      “This is amazing Shawn!” Juliet beamed as she took another forkful of cake and devoured it. The following day, Shawn and Lassiter had decided to be nice and bring over pieces of cake for her and Gus. They’d even snuck one to McNab and Woody on Shawn’s insistence, the latter of which didn’t bother to wait until his break to eat, starting in on the cake over a dead man’s organs. Apparently Carlton had been in a good mood and hadn’t minded sharing the fruit of their mutual labor during lunch break with his partner and the consultant duo.

      Grinning mischievously, Shawn took a bite of his own piece, speaking around the cream cheese and pineapple instead of waiting until after he swallowed. “Lassie’s got a great oven and I didn’t even need to call the fire department.” he said. “Best not-a-birthday-cake cake ever.”

      “I have to admit,” Gus cut in, looking rather impressed as he took the cherry from his piece and ate it by itself. “This is a lot better than I expected. You and Lassie are surprisingly good at baking.”

      Shawn sat on the edge of Lassiter’s desk patiently, smiling like the Cheshire cat as he waited for Gus to have taken at last two bites of the delicious cake. As soon as his best friend was in the middle of chewing a third forkful, he patted him on the shoulder. “It’s because it was made with love. And you wouldn’t believe how sexy cake batter can be when it’s dripping off of someone’s hip bones.” he said brightly, hand trailing to twine his fingers with Lassiter’s. “Plus, pineapple rings are so perfectly shaped…”

      Juliet tried not to laugh as both her partner and Gus immediately went bug-eyed and started choking on their cake. Shawn looked like he’d need some CPR later with as hard as he was laughing, and at least two officers poked their heads around corners to see what on earth all the howling was about. Judging by the slight pallor to Gus’s face he was imagining all the unsightly things that might have gone into the baking of the cake he’d just eaten, and Lassiter face wasn’t just red from lack of oxygen.

      “ _Spencer!_ ”

      If the last names were back it meant that Shawn had better hightail it, so he hopped from Carlton’s desk, quickly waved goodbye and made a run for the nearest exit. Of course, Lassiter immediately trailed after, leaving a disgusted –looking Gus and his partner behind in his wake of fury.

      As shouts erupted from somewhere out of sight, Gus glanced at his half-eaten piece of pineapple upside-down cake before pushing it away. “Uh… on second thought, I think I’ll pass.” He said, nodding to Juliet as he left, heading for the shrieks of laughter and the angry yelling.

      Some things never changed.

      Juliet didn’t bother getting into the fray and simply took Gus’s left over piece and piled it into her own paper plate. Sex jokes notwithstanding, she wasn’t going to let cake go to waste.

 


	3. Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well somehow I ended up posting this late because I got busy. To be fair though, this chapter is longer than the last ones, and hardly anyone else seems to have posted anything for Day 3 yet, so I think that makes up for it.
> 
> I somehow ended up with a strange style for this one, so sorry if it seems a little odd. Here comes all the drama too (which is what I usually write), to make up for the fun fluffy stuff from the first two days.
> 
> And in case anyone isn't sure, regular text is present, italicized text is Shawn's memories/flashbacks. Big thank you to those that left comments or kudos!

     In the early hour, it almost looked beautiful… a thin streak cast pale and silver from the dawn’s light where it slowly spilled through unevenly closed curtains.

 

     “ _I specifically told you not to come here!” The harsh whisper was immediately recognizable, as were soft footfalls as the two men came to stand side by side. Every little movement seemed to echo in the nearly empty warehouse, bouncing off of high stone walls. The whisper of a wind was beckoning in a gentle night breeze through dirty, broken windows, not a sound outside but nature’s hollow wail-_

 

      Somehow, it was impossible to look away.

      He couldn’t sleep- hadn’t been able to do so properly all night, instead napping or drifting off restlessly here or there. The warm body lying at his back had been a small comfort in the wake of all-too detailed nightmares and cold sweats, so at some point he’d rolled over and given up trying. Ironically, for the first time since they’d been dating (hell, probably the first time _ever_ ), Shawn was awake before Lassiter was, hazel eyes watching the detective in his unfairly peaceful slumber.

 

  _“He’s here right now, Lassie!” Shawn insisted, hoping that Lassiter would put his desire for justice first and foremost at that moment. “Come on man, do you want to catch this guy or not?” The SBPD had been trying for days to nab the slippery serial killer and now Shawn had finally found his hiding spot; tracked down through tiny hints and clues left at past crime scenes. They just needed to stay there, wait him out, draw the man into the open-_

 

A chill must have seeped into the bedroom, making the warmth of two bodies and a surprisingly cozy queen-sized bed not quite enough. Shawn carefully scooted himself closer, draping an arm around Carlton’s chest and using the larger man as a warm pillow. Lassiter didn’t wake, only shifting slightly and moving one leg over Shawn’s, a habit of the body more than choice of the mind whilst still deep in dreamland. The gesture was familiar and Shawn knew that if Lassiter had been awake the man would complain that Shawn was only cold because he refused to wear anything but underwear to bed (even _that_ had been fought for because Shawn liked sleeping nude, and Carlton refused to save his sorry ass if a fire ever broke out and they ended up on the sidewalk of his apartment with Shawn buck-naked).

      Bare though Shawn was, Lassiter on the other hand stayed properly clothed in his blue plaid pajamas, the bottoms of which had ridden down sometime during the night while the top bunched up after some unconscious stretching. Pale skin had been revealed without fabric in the way, and so too had the scar been unveiled, out in the open for Shawn to stare at for god only knew how many hours.

 

     “ _Get back!" The warning had come too late and Shawn almost didn’t see the flash of metal from a knife too-well concealed to have been hidden for protection. This was planned, prepared from the beginning by their psychopath on the run, and he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Fear bubbled up, threatening to burst out in one sudden flash of panic, but the blade did not pierce his skin, gutting him from one side of the torso to the other as it should have. Instead something larger- grey and white and warm- crashed into his side, sending Shawn to the ground as one grunt of pain was echoed by another._

_“Lassie?” The cool press of a concrete floor had disoriented him and would likely leave bruises, but now Shawn could see the detective standing above him, hunched over slightly and suddenly still as stone. The silver blade was gone from the killer’s hands, protruding now from white fabric painted red, dripping scarlet onto the floor._

_“Oh my god… Lassie!” The crack of a gun, the clang of metal on concrete, words of concern tumbling from his mouth-_

 

     Beautiful _._ Once more the word came to mind and Shawn shuddered, tracing the white sliver that crossed Lassiter’s right hip just above the bone and ended a little before his bottom rib. Only about three or four inches across, the scar had seemed much longer when the stitches had been there; eerie cross-hatching that made Shawn think of Frankenstein’s monster and then want to never watch those sorts of movies again (because surely, Gus would understand).

      But the worst part was, Shawn knew all of Lassiter’s scars by heart; everything from the small marks on the back of each ankle rubbed in by childhood figure-skating practice on Lake Victoria, to the jagged streak over one bicep that some drunkard in a bar fight had left with a broken glass bottle. Some scars Carlton had told him about, brandishing those gained in the line of duty like badges of honor (first gunshot wound had been to the right shin, thin lines over one shoulder blade the after-images of a former inmate’s fork, and if someone looked close enough there were teeth marks still visible on Lassiter’s right ankle). Others were only divulged during quiet nights at home after some scotch and long stories of much younger days (the pock mark on his thumb left by a fishing hook, and the one on his palm that had once been a blister from Old Sonora).

      Shawn had managed to figure some of the scars out for himself as well (with a little help from Woody on occasion, but he wasn’t likely to admit that to Lassiter); after much deliberation he’d even put two and two together to realize that the scar on Lassiter’s left collar bone had come from a biking accident and led to the unmentionable ‘sling incident’ years before.

      But those were different.

      Shawn hadn’t been the cause of any of _those_ scars.

 

     “ _The ambulance is coming okay, ju-just don’t move and stay awake. That’s what people are supposed to do right? Stay awake? I mean that’s a lot of blood and it’s probably a good thing Gus isn’t here because he’d probably faint and then I’d have to carry both of you out and-” He tried to stop the rambling, but the words kept coming, bleeding out as Lassiter was, running as fast as his panicking mind would allow-_

 

     He knew Lassiter didn’t blame him, which was something that should have let his mind rest now that the matter was over and done. The fact remained though that he had followed after a known killer without backup and had dragged his (what… friend? Boyfriend? Both hurt too much to think about-), his _colleague_ into the fray. Police officer be damned, Lassiter shouldn’t have become a casualty in something Shawn had started and meant to finish. He’d wanted more than anything to put the bastard behind bars and stop the killing before anyone else fell victim, but yet again Shawn had expected to be able to talk his way out of a sticky situation and for once his wit had failed. Hell, Lassiter had brought a gun and somehow even that hadn’t saved them entirely because, _because_ -

_He’d been stabbed. Carlton had actually been_ stabbed _and it had all been Shawn’s fault._

_Lassiter had collapsed, right leg buckling first and carrying him to the floor in a heap of long limbs. Boneless, like the arms and legs of a puppet left for dead without strings. If the detective hadn’t managed to put a bullet in their murderer before succumbing to his own injury, Shawn would have probably fallen victim to the same bloodied blade now lying by a scarlet streak on the cold floor._

_He’d scrambled on bruised knees to Lassiter’s side, cradling the man’s head against his chest. “I’m sorry, oh my god Lassie I’m so sorry, this is my fault.” Shawn had never been one for tears, not so long as he could keep the real fear at bay behind a joke, a laugh, but now his eyes were beginning to blur. There was so much blood under his hands as he tried to put pressure on Lassiter’s wound, the gash on the man’s hip long and dark._

_What had once been a pristine white shirt was ruined now and even Lassiter’s black dress pants were shiny with wetness at his waist. In hindsight, Shawn realized that the small height difference between himself and Carlton had probably kept the detective from a much more dangerous stomach wound. As it stood though, blood loss could kill just as easily as damaged organs._

_One hand, stained just as red and far too weak, searched blindly for Shawn’s arm, gently gripping his wrist. “Not your fault.” Lassiter ground out, blinking hard as he tried to focus on the pain. It probably hurt like a bitch but pain meant he was still alive and it would likely help him stay conscious. “Just… tell me you’re not hurt. If that scum-sucking bastard did anything…” Once bright eyes had become a pale gunmetal blue in the dim lighting as Carlton tried to ascertain Shawn’s condition. Any attempt at movement was met with a grimace and Shawn started babbling again when he felt more warmth seeping between his fingers from the motion._

_“Me? Seriously?” Shawn asked, almost laughing at how ridiculous the question was. Lassiter was worried, it was written so plainly on his face. He had just been stabbed by a crazy murderer and he was more worried about Shawn’s safety than his own. “Dammit Lassie, I’m fine!” God why wasn’t an ambulance there already? He remembered dialing, tiny scarlet prints left on the face of his iPhone. “You’re the one that’s freaking bleeding all over the place, you stupid, careless, useless, selfless-”_

     His damn eidetic memory wouldn’t stop playing the scene over and over again in his head, the details (Lassiter’s face draining of color while his shirt was stained red, the smell of mold and rust and _blood_ , a gunshot to stop their attacker before any more damage could be done, fingers intertwined so carefully in his), oh the details were all too real. Still troubled by the memories, Shawn had pressed his hand to Carlton’s chest, feeling for the heartbeat he feared might slip away any moment and make a darker, much more empty world crash in around the one he clung to now.

 

     “ _I need you to tell O’Hara… she, she has to-” This was not happening. Shawn had seen so many movies where the hero said his last goodbyes, clutching the hand of a friend or lover, but he’d always found those scenes tragically romantic. In movies, the hero always managed to survive (or almost always, but Shawn liked the movies with happy endings better). But there, clinging to Lassiter, it wasn’t the same at all; it was awful and it hurt and he couldn’t stand how weakly Carlton was holding onto him while his face seemed to grow more and more ashen by the minute._

_“You’re telling her yourself Lassie, or I am going to use your gun to clean the burnt meatloaf from all of my dishes.” Shawn pulled off his over-shirt and balled it up, covering the wound once more and pressing down as hard as he dared, ignoring the half-choked gasp of pain that Lassiter couldn’t hold back. “I swear to god Lassie I’ll do it! You have to stay with me remember? What happened to being Chief of Police, huh? You wouldn’t want me solving all those future cases by myself and getting all the credit would you?”_

_But suddenly, there was no response. Not an angry comeback or the shudder of a half-formed growl. Lassiter had gone boneless in his arms, dark lashes too visible over pallid cheeks and Shawn’s heart might have stopped because Lassiter’s eyes had closed, they had closed and he wasn’t moving but Shawn was shaking so hard he feared his own body might fall apart-_

 

     In and out, in and out, Shawn forced the panic down, matching breath with the man he slept beside as he listened to the soft snores of someone warm and real and _alive._ The nightmares were fake (of Carlton slipping away, lifeless in his arms- of Juliet, crying at a funeral she’d never wanted to attend, and of Gus, trying to comfort a friend in black incapable of dealing with death), but the memories… the memories were all too real and with every soft tick of the wall-mounted clock, he relived them over again.

      The sirens in his head still seemed as loud as they’d been at the warehouse that day, wailing in unison with the shouts and stomping of feet as officers had finally rushed onto the bloody scene. Shawn could remember Juliet pulling him away from Lassiter’s unconscious form, crushing him in a hug meant as much for her as it was for him and keeping him away so the paramedics could work. At the hospital, Gus had been there too, doing his best to keep Shawn’s mind busy with chatter or laughter or snacks that had no taste while they waited for news from the doctors to come.

      Before Santa Barbara and Psych, before two detectives he couldn’t live without, a father that he couldn’t stand but loved anyways, and a best friend who never left no matter how hard it got… _before_ all that, Shawn had always run away when problems arose; when things became too difficult or fear threatened to break him down. But that night, stuck in a cold waiting room with friends until news came (good or bad), he’d had nowhere to go. Suddenly the cheerful psychic detective had become the same little boy that refused to bury his dead pet out of grief and denial.

      He had cried, exhausted and worried, still covered in blood he wished had been his own.

      Days after the incident, Shawn had visited the warehouse again, sneaking away from everyone when he could no longer bear the guilt that came with watching Lassiter sleeping while hooked up to an IV and monitors. By then the detective had been patched up and, according to a friendly doctor, would make a full recovery in no time with little to no problems. Whatever relief had come with the news, however, was quickly eaten once more by the memories of blood and tears and _fear_. So Shawn had hopped on his motorbike without even telling Gus and had driven back to the dilapidated building on his own. The police cars and crime tape were gone- the body of their killer removed from the warehouse floor.

      But the blood stains had remained.

      It almost seemed appropriate. Shawn wasn’t sure how it would have felt to come back and see no trace of what he’d had to deal with that night- all evidence washed away like a bad dream and left only in the memories that refused to go away.

      Carlton healed, work returned to normal, and no one blamed Shawn for what happened. Of course, Shawn blamed himself enough for everyone, really. So, he held onto Lassiter tight in their shared bed and traced the faint scar with one hand instead of sleeping, too embarrassed to express his fears and worries to the man while both of them were awake. It wasn’t that Lassiter wouldn’t understand; being a police officer, he of all people would know about the nightmares and the memories too perfect and too real to keep bottled inside. Yet somehow, Shawn couldn’t bring himself to lay his worries bare. He had played the fool for so long he wasn’t even sure what he would say anymore.

      “You almost died because of me and I don’t know how to deal with that,” just didn’t seem adequate now, what with the nights they’d spent together after the hospital, holding each other close with no word or explanation. There wasn’t sex, just cuddling (something Shawn had found early on that Carlton was surprisingly inclined towards). It had been intimate, comforting, but somehow every time Shawn caught a glimpse of the scar, the mark would act like a flashing neon sign or those little stickers on the bottom of every dish, piece of clothing, and plastic toy in America: “Made by Shawn Spencer”, it read accusingly, instead of saying “Made in China”.

      Maybe it was the ridiculously late-early hour of the night-morning, maybe it was because he’d been running on a Red Bull binge for two days to stay alert after the insomnia refused to go away, but Shawn didn’t realize that Lassiter was awake until after long fingers had curled around his hand and a voice rough from sleep drifted past his ear.

      “You weren’t the only one scared at the warehouse you know.” Carlton said softly, rolling over so that he could tuck Shawn against his chest and rest his chin on the mess of unkempt brown hair. “Why do you think I pushed you aside?” he asked.

      Shawn wanted to argue, maybe joke about accidentally waking up his sleeping companion before the sun was even fully up, but he knew it was too late; Carlton had caught him running a finger over the scar and the detective was far too keen, despite what others may have thought, to have missed why Shawn wasn’t still asleep. After being awoken by Shawn’s nightmare-induced thrashing more than once over the last few days, it wasn’t hard to guess. Even the past few days Lassiter had been looking at him strangely, cautiously, as though he already knew more, likely far too much more, without Shawn needing say a thing.

      Sighing into the embrace, Shawn selfishly enjoyed the fact that their current positions made it impossible for Lassiter to look at his face. He could still hide, play the coward, and pretend it didn’t hurt so much to speak without his voice breaking. “Is it because I’m a civilian?” he mumbled, knowing that wasn’t the answer but still not sure what Lassiter was trying to get at. Avoiding the real topic seemed so much easier.

      There was a familiar noise of irritation as Carlton blew air from his lips. “If you really think that, then you’re a bigger idiot than I gave you credit for.” he said gruffly, but with no real bite to the words. If the straight forward tactic wasn’t going to work on Shawn, then he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try a more unusual route. “You remember that case a couple years back, the one with the armored cars and the ice cream truck?” he asked carefully, moving the arm that had draped over Shawn’s and instead pressing a hand lightly against the shorter man’s left shoulder.

      Shawn frowned, all too easily remembering a chase through dark woods, the inside of a rather uncomfortable car trunk, and a bullet tearing through him. “It’d be a bit freaky if I didn’t.” he said instead. “People usually remember getting shot and stuffed into some guy’s car so, yeah, I have to say I do.”

      The rumble of a chuckle, the press of a gentle kiss to Shawn’s head, and then Lassiter began making small circles on Shawn’s skin with his thumb. “I gave you that case because I didn’t think there was anything in it and that it would be a waste of time.” he explained and Shawn suddenly realized that Carlton was copying what he had been doing earlier; tracing a scar, only this one left by a bullet instead of a blade. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. Had I paid more attention to the truck, you might not have been shot. I still feel guilty about how long it took to find you, you know.”

      Somehow, that small revelation made Shawn feel better. Amidst the exclamations of forgiveness (the absolution of blame), the apologies and reassurance from Juliet and Gus, the wise words he’d ignored from his father… somehow in a strange and probably twisted way, it seemed like mutual guilt was the one defining factor that cut through a melting pot of emotions, and Shawn suddenly relaxed, laughing softly as much at himself as at Lassiter.

      “You seriously feel bad for that?” he asked, not entirely sure if he wanted reassurance or simply confirmation- after all, there really wasn’t any way Lassiter could be blamed for what had happened that night, in the darkness of the late hour. Shawn himself bore half the responsibility because he’d gone to confront (if unknowingly), an ex-military sniper-turned-criminal without backup. When Carlton nodded in response though, Shawn sat up slightly so he could finally look his boyfriend in the eyes. The man looked dead-serious, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Dude, here I thought that _I_ had a problem with guilt.”

      Lassiter raised an eyebrow and pulled Shawn close again, trying to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. “Yeah well, some things are hard to get over.” he admitted. “I’ve almost lost you, O’Hara- hell, even _Guster-_ , too many times over the past years. Unfortunately, I think through prolonged exposure to you guys I’ve grown attached and heart-removal surgery is unfortunately out of my budget.” For the first time in days, Shawn laughed properly and Carlton wondered when exactly he’d started to miss the sound.

      “So what, you’re still going to do stupidly heroic things like jumping in front of some wacko’s scimitar to protect me, and I’m not supposed to feel guilty about it at all?” Shawn asked, somewhere between incredulous and too tired to find the thought not-funny. Lassiter was warm and the lack of sleep was finally getting to him because Shawn’s eyelids had actually stated to droop. He felt a bit like a cat, curled up under the comforter with his personal security-Lassie (which was arguably much better than a plain old security-blanket).

      Maneuvering a bit so he could lay more comfortably, Lassiter closed his own eyes for a few moments and waited until Shawn had flipped over and gotten comfortable to speak. “It wasn’t a scimitar, Shawn, it could hardly even be considered sword- maybe a dagger at best.” he chided, snorting at Shawn’s whine of protest and something that sounded a lot like ‘creative liberties’. “And to answer your question, yes- If you keep acting stupid and getting yourself into trouble for the sake of justice, then I get to act just as stupid and you can’t feel guilty if something happens to me because of it. It’s only fair. Besides, who else is going to watch your idiotic, psychic ass?”

      Shawn grinned at the word, even if he knew that Carlton never believed his charade. “I knew you liked watching my ass.” he said instead, the reply barely audible with his face squished into the pillow and his back pressed against Lassiter’s chest (spooning half-moon style, as the consultant was want to call it). His breathing was starting to slow finally, sleep creeping in like it hadn’t for what seemed like ages. He could blame the sudden exhaustion on a Red Bull related caffeine crash later, instead of the emotional rollercoaster that he seemed to have gone on in only a few minutes.

      Smiling to himself, Lassiter ignored the remark and did his best to quiet his mind once more. If Shawn was going to finally get some sleep, then Carlton planned wholeheartedly to join him. Any further talking they needed to do could wait until the morning (and perhaps half a dozen cups of coffee).

       Lassiter didn’t even have the chance to wonder if Shawn was still awake before both men were fast asleep in each other’s embrace. He wasn’t roused in the middle of the morning by thrashing or shouting- for once, Shawn slept soundly and dreamlessly until noon the next day (a bad habit that, just that once, Lassiter made no remark about). Whatever part of what he’d said to Shawn that night seemed to have worked, because by morning the consultant almost seemed back to his old self.

      The scar remained, but the guilt had gone.


	4. Crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple things of note that you should know.
> 
> First, this is late. This is BEYOND late and I'm posting it anyways because I have this unstoppable urge to make sure I finish these darn prompts from Shassie Week even though it isn't even April anymore (Yikes!). Plus, I might have a 10,000+ words fic to post that was technically for Day 5 and I felt like I couldn't until I had something for Day 4 first.
> 
> Second, was this supposed to be crack as in funny or ridiculous stuff? Oops. (Also known as: I can't write proper crack so I took the prompt as loosely as humanly possibly and this ended up being written in probably the weirdest format ever. Sorry.)
> 
> Third, despite a definite drama sort of feel to parts of this chapter, I was listening to some old peppy Taylor Swift song while writing it. I don't know why either.
> 
> Also I've been sleep-deprived for days so I'm sorry for any errors or for this not making any sense. Anyways hope anyone reading this mess of a prompt-series enjoys this even if it is short and chaotic at best.

_Crack_

It was the shattered visage of a man crumbling under the steely blue gaze of the head detective; tall, gangly, and suddenly so unnaturally and uncharacteristically quiet in the interrogation room that even someone as immune to the man as Juliet had visibly swallowed. Lassiter was in top form, deciding that silence would work to his advantage for once, and as he waited with calm features but eyes like frozen fire, it was only a matter of minutes before the suspect finally broke.

The man was fidgeting already, looking like he was ready to bolt. Lassiter slowly drew in a noticeable breath, letting it out like the hiss of a snake. He counted to twenty, leaned forward ever so slowly, and then watched in triumph as the man’s walls came crashing down like rubble.

_Crack_

It was the report of a gunshot breaking through the air, the bullet only just skimming past fabric or flesh as one man barreled into another, sending both to the hard concrete in a painful but safe tangle of limbs. Their assailant had missed, but a moment later the calm was once more torn apart under a hailstorm of bullets, all making the wind seem to crinkle and snap.

Shawn had been lucky, noticing the tiny glint of light off of their attacker’s gun before he could catch them by surprise, and he’d heard the bang as his arms had connected with Lassiter’s torso. It was a good thing the detective hadn’t been too far away or there would have been a bloody smear left behind on the ground when the two managed to regain their footing and duck behind some cover.

_Crack_

It was how rattled the man looked, standing at attention on Shawn’s doormat with one hand raised but unable to let it fall against the painted wood before him. Shawn had swung the door wide after seeing someone outside his front window, only to find a speechless and fumbling Lassiter looking ready to bolt at the slightest sign of disappointment or criticism.

He had mumbled out something about dinner, just the two of them, and then offered up the possibility of inviting Shawn on a case as though he might need bribery as a second defense. Shawn had been so stunned for a moment at the prospect of a date that he hadn’t answered and was forced to watch as Lassiter’s final resolve began to shatter.

_Crack_

It was the whiplash of a joke that landed just right, sending the officers that surrounded Shawn into a fit of laughter. He grinned with relish and commented easily on the latest topic of discussion, watching as Juliet was forced to gasp for air and McNab nearly fell out of his seat.

But it was the man sitting at the far side of the room, holed up at his desk behind paperwork and case files that spurred Shawn on in his jokes and quick-witted remarks; every now and then he’d see the hint of humor light up in Lassiter’s eyes, even as the detective pretended to ignore whatever was being said while he filled out mind-numbing forms.

_Crack_

It was the sound of ribs giving out under the onslaught of some maniac’s metal pipe, a sickeningly dull pop. Shawn felt his stomach sink into his toes; his own wrists were being threatened with similar damage as he tried to pull himself free from the handcuffs keeping him from giving Lassiter aid. The detective was bloodied and lying mostly limp, and despite the constant litany of words from the man they’d wanted to arrest, Shawn had heard each snap as another bone was broken in two.

The cavalry arrived with paramedics in tow, but even after Lassiter was safely tucked into a hospital bed with a full recovery assured, the sound would still reverberate through Shawn’s mind. It blocked out the beeping of monitors and the oxygen machine- forcing its way most loudly when Shawn dared to try and fall to sleep.

_Crack_

It was the sound that seemed to rattle his brain as something connected hard with his head, like the snick-snack of joints being popped underwater. Then there were stars behind his eyes and a throbbing between his ears, voices muffled in the distance despite someone kneeling at his side. He could feel something running down past his hairline and tickling the skin at the back of his neck.

He should have been left for dead, probably bleeding out on the streets, but after a moment without comprehension, Shawn could feel fingers cupping his head. Then more stars in front of his vision, but these were blue, familiar, and warm, and he breathed out a name as relief enveloped him on the inside like someone’s arms had on the outside.

_Crack_

It was the sound of their voices going hoarse when an investigation that had nearly cost multiple people their lives ended abruptly in an attempt at both murder and arson. Shawn and Lassiter had been the last to clear the flaming, smoke-filled hallways of the abandoned building, making sure everyone else got out from the fire first. There had been no way to save the criminal they’d been chasing, but the murder plus suicide had remained only the latter as everyone else managed to escape.

The smoke had left them both breathless and coughing, so Shawn’s cry of triumph had been ragged and torn, but Lassiter had echoed it with a more subdued one of his own. Shawn might have mentioned something about frogs in their throats, but the detective had bemusedly disagreed and instead likened their voices instead to that of crumbling glass.

_Crack_

_Crack_

_Crack_

It was the way Lassiter’s mask would break whenever Shawn was around, chipped away like sand and wind against a statue of gigantic proportions. Every new piece that fell away gave the other man triumph, and Lassiter could see how Shawn tried so hard to find a space large enough to get through, to crawl all the way under Lassiter’s skin and into his heart. Every word Shawn spoke seemed to force him deeper into Lassiter’s life.

_Crack_

“Damn Lassie, you broke open that guy like an Easter egg!” In the viewing room after their suspect finally spilled his guts and not only admitted to his crime but began dropping names like they had been on fire.

_Crack_

“Holy crap, tell me that creep didn’t hit you.” While he tried to spit gravel from his teeth, picking himself from the sidewalk even as Shawn was inspecting the tear in his sleeve and dragging them both behind a large dumpster before any more bullets could come near.

_Crack_

“Gus is going to freak.” Before his trembling shoulders were suddenly clutched between excited hands and Shawn’s mouth was over his own, relieving all the doubt he’d built up before Shawn could even drag him past the threshold.

_Crack_

“Of course, it would have been much better if the bears had stayed _in_ the cages.” Added at just the right moment for half the people in the bullpen to hear, giving way to laughter and amused remarks that made an afternoon of endless form-filling a little less boring.

_Crack_

“How many ribs did he break?” Asked with such concern that Lassiter had contemplated about lying for a moment, not sure that Shawn would want to know that the answer was somewhere in the range of “too many”.

_Crack_

“Lassie?” Confused and half-slurred, with hazy eyes that took too long to focus on Lassiter’s worried expression as he cradled Shawn’s head in both hands gently.

_Crack_

“Yes! Free at last!” The words cried out in a choking, grating gasp, yet filled with far more enthusiasm than Shawn’s hacking coughs should have allowed as he spoke between shuddered breaths.

_Crack_

Most importantly, it was the way the grin always spread across Lassiter’s face; slowly, in a thin line at first, then growing across his features as though the expression had forced its way to the surface. It was his mouth and the space between the top and bottom set of teeth, it was the wrinkles in the skin around his eyes, and the way a chuckle seemed to suddenly be forced to the surface like the sound of a whip.

It was the way Shawn could open up a case, slicing through the unknown and finding what others somehow couldn’t with a strangely chaotic precision; unusual, unorthodox, and yet so effective. It was how his look of triumph broke through as a suspect buckled from his pieced-together breakdown, and how Shawn would move his fingers and set the joints right after a job well done, looking like he’d won the lottery by putting another criminal in jail.

It was all those things and so many others. It was cocaine found in a smuggler’s den, it was the hit of a fist against someone’s jaw, it was to crumble and splinter and shatter and _break_.

 

_Crack_

_Crack_

_Crack._

 


End file.
